Book Description"The witch," the crowd murmured, as they parted before me. Dirty unwashed humans. I wrinkled my nose and pressed my sleeping harling closer to my chest. I loathed bringing my son into the presence of the filthy things, but when duty is concerned Zen sets aside all else. Even family. We had arrived three months ago in this overcrowded refugee camp on the high plains of northern Megalithica, after Tigron Pellaz-har-Aralis, lord of the powerful region of Almagabra, had chosen my chesnari to be his ambassador to the savages. Zen had taken to the task with an enthusiasm that I didn't understand. When I'd dropped our son's pearl, Zen had shown an appropriate amount of excitement. But as the harling continued to develop within the protective membrane, Zen had found a hundred excuses to be elsewhere which, I'm sure, in his eyes he considered quite legitimate. The familiar pattern of Zen's thoughts brushed away my irritation. The crowd opened, and I saw him mediating...